|Blurred Lines Mods (blurred_mods) wrote in blurred_lines,|
@ 2009-08-31 17:25:00
|Entry tags:||! [1980-08] august, aberforth dumbledore, aeneas nott, agatha snape (née chubb), akhil patil, alana fenwick, alastor moody, aloysius croaker, amelia bones, amycus carrow, anastasia mulciber (née aesalon), andrew forsythe, angelica bobbin, anzhelina dolohov, aquila avery, araminta meliflua, astra lestrange (née avery), atticus avery, barty crouch jr, bellatrix lestrange (née black), bertie higgs, bertram aubrey, beth frobisher, ciara fitzpatrick, claudette nott (née delacour), corbina lestrange, damocles belby, daniel rourke, demetrius mulciber, doris crockford, elle abercrombie, elphias doge, emmeline vance, evangeline macnair, fenrir greyback, ferdinand gibbon, florence hall, gaius travers, gawain robards, georgina smythe, graley rosier, hestia jones, iago mulciber, igor karkaroff, james potter, jeremiah smith, josephine pepper (née savage), julianne wilkes, kate proudfoot, kingsley shacklebolt, lachlan kirke, lavinia travers, lily potter (née evans), lucinda greengrass (née yaxley), lucius malfoy, marius lestrange, mary macdonald, minerva mcgonagall, narcissa malfoy (née black), octavius pepper, peggy o'nell, petra podmore (née petrikova), rabastan lestrange, rita skeeter, rufus scrimgeour, sam madley, seraphina travers, severus snape, tabitha macfusty (née bagnold), tabitha pryce, ursula caldeira, walden macnair, xenophilius lovegood|
FINAL BATTLE [12/29]
THE FINAL BATTLE
Death eaters call for a
With some pain and effort and a hand wrapped tightly around his aching ribs, Atticus picked himself up off the ground from where the whomping willow had thrown him and he started to head back towards Rufus, glancing across the grounds to see if the others were having any more success in their own fights. But what he saw stopped him in his tracks. This was not the easy victory they had anticipated and while Atticus should have known better considering their hastily made plans, if their efforts could even be called as much, to actually see the strength of their opponents across the battlefield was an unexpected shock. They needed to regroup. They needed to determine a proper strategy rather than just scatter across the grounds fighting haphazardly. Descending into sheer chaos was not the way to win a fight.
A decision was made then, with only one last glance towards where he had been fighting Rufus only moments earlier, and Atticus tapped his wand to his throat to cast a sonorus charm upon himself. "Death Eaters will immediately retreat to the gates," he called out, his unnaturally amplified voice booming across the grounds. "Bring the wounded. Leave no one behind." While others might think there was shame in calling for a retreat, Atticus had no such qualms. Not if it gave them the opportunity to regroup and reemerge a stronger, more organised force. Not if there was no Dark Lord to ensure their victory and they were left to do this on their own.
Fenrir stomped back towards the gates with Scabior over his shoulder and Julianne's arm clutched tightly in his other hand. He was swearing almost constantly the whole way, mostly at Scabior, sometimes at Julianne and the rest at the Order and Albion. He didn't like retreating. Didn't like it one bit but he could see the tactical value in it, especially in regards to gathering his wolves and the rest of his army.
They were able to get back with minimal trouble and he dumped Scabior on the ground and dragged Julianne around beside him. "Heal him," he growled. "Heal him and maybe I'll forget to tell your father and the Inner Circle about your traitorous ways out there." He let the girl get to it and glanced around, trying to find his people.
"I'm sorry," Julianne stammered, her arm held rather tightly in a tender spot where she had been whipped by the very man, animal?, who caused it. She pulled her arm away as they got away from the loud hexing and shouting. "For the record, this is my second time being on the battlefield, my first overseeing one. If the proper healing hex didn't get to you, I was merely disoriented." Her brows furrowed slightly, her voice more stern. This was her only chance to prove her innocence anyway..
Turning to Scabior, Julianne looked at him almost apologetically. "Episkey," she said aloud, her wand pointed at Scabior's wounds. It was without a doubt that she wasn't paying attention to his duel as much as she should have..
Scabior winced as he was deposited unceremoniously to the ground, feeling a bit stupid for getting so hurt and wondering what the hell Fenrir was talking about. He smiled painfully at Julianne, who was rather pretty come to think of it, finding her explanation (whatever it was about) particularly convincing. He was grateful for the healing, as he had no idea how to do it himself, and held his ribs still so the healing could attack his seared flesh. "Bit more over here, miss," he said vaguely, turning so she could get the amount that extended to his back as well.
"Disoriented, my arse," Fenrir growled. "You did fuck all to heal Scabior or me but somehow managed to miraculously hit McGonagall? Save your pathetic excuses for the Inner Circle and your father. I'm sure they'll be real sympathetic. And it seems the rest of the girls managed alright." He waved a hand around at the gathering Death Eaters. "And most of them have the same or less experience than you."
He looked down at Scabior and nudged him a little with one boot. "You planning on getting up anytime soon? This ain't over."
Julianne bitterly wondered who they would believe anyway, a werewolf or a society lady. She would deny it profusely, say that Fenrir was moving to quickly and that it was difficult to heal him properly. She did help him out during the duel, did she not? Turning her attention back to Scabior (was that a smile?), Julianne proceeding to heal a rather nasty looking back. She offered him a small smile as well, at least he wasn't like Fenrir.
"Yet most have brothers or fathers that are a Death Eater, my father did not teach me nor did prepare me for battle. Do not scold me for the retreat, and don't say I didn't help you." Her expression was tight, eyes cold, yet she tremored inside. Had she really just spoken to Fenrir Greyback like that?
Scabior didn't think the pretty lady should argue -- it was never a good idea to argue with the boss, but he said nothing as his back healed enough to get him on his feet again. Wiping blood from his face, he looked up at Fenrir and smiled lopsidedly. "Ready, boss!" He wanted to look for Ursula, but it seemed like the inner circle was gathering everyone to listen to what they had to say. Maybe he could find her later. Touching his back, he muttered out an abrupt "thanks" and tried to ignore the fact that Fenrir was accusing the girl of treason.
Fenrir growled low in his chest and took a couple of steps towards Julianne. He raised his hand as though to strike her but never completed the blow. It wasn't compassion that stilled his hand and it certainly wasn't fear of her father or the Inner Circle. It was the sight of the Inner Circle gathering everyone together. He wanted to get over there and find out what their next move was. A more coordinated attack would be best. His army in the middle as the shock troops and the Death Eater on either side using their magic would work well. The useless ones like this brainless girl could be left behind.
He sneered at Julianne. "Your sister was a Death Eater and she was a fucking good one. Fuck knows she was of more use than you. She was worthy to be among us. You're nothing more than a useless cow. Worthless. Good for nothing more than popping out pups... presuming any man would ever want you. Get out of my sight." He didn't wait to watch her go, just turned to Scabior and gestured towards the gathering near the Inner Circle. "Come on. I want to hear what they're saying." With that he stalked off towards the crowd.
Knowing Julianne, she should have cried. Broke down hysterically and mope. She should have attempted to flee when Fenrir raised his hand. Instead, she stood waiting for it. Stupidity? Not quite. More of like a quiet understanding. She never approved of Georgina's way of life, Fenrir did. He was completely opposite of her. 'Popping out pups,' he had said, certainly he knew nothing of society. People were bred to be the way they were, they were raised. Men went out looking for the best woman to carry their heir, yet how would they continue their line if they had no wife? The society revolved around woman, it was just too skewed to realize this.
As Fenrir turned and left with Scabior, so did Julianne. She came to realize that didn't want a part in this. None at all.
Barty had not been pleased with the order to retreat -- running away was what traitors and cowards who were not willing to do everything that was necessary for the Dark Lord did -- but the order had come from a member of the Inner Circle, and an order from any of them was as good as a command from their master Himself to him; that, along with fighting to the death, were the only two situations in which Barty would ever abandon an operation for the Cause. He re-adjusted his mask, which had loosened during the course of his fight, and began stalking back towards the gates, looking around for one of the girls to call over so he could get his shoulder fixed before he would surely return to help finish this.
Igor vs Barty
Never had Igor been so pleased to hear anything when the order to retreat came and he was quick to follow it. He was hurting badly and he just wanted to get out of here. Let these fools fight for whatever cause they chose. He wanted money and power and he was rapidly coming to the conclusion that there was neither on offer here in Britain. So now he just had to get away.
He didn't think it would be difficult. It was obvious to anyone with even half a brain that they were losing and he could tell as he got closer to some of the other Death Eaters and their womenfolk that they knew it too... and that the realisation was a hard and shocking one to
But irrespective of that, they were distracted and fluttering about like so many headless chickens. A perfect opportunity for Igor to get away scot-free. He began to edge his way around the outsides of the group until he was on the side nearest the gate then after a quick glance proved to him that the Inner Circle were all huddled together and that everyone else was watching the Inner Circle as though they were the second coming, he started to dart over towards the wall, where he would then make his way to the gate and then to freedom and sanity.
Unfortunately for Igor, it just happened that Barty had found himself near the edge of the group of Death Eaters, being too small to push his way through closer to the Inner Circle as he would have wanted. As he strained to listen to what they were saying, he noticed out of the corner of his eye that someone seemed to be wandering away from them -- one of the doubters, he was certain, who had no loyalty in the Dark Lord, and might even readily betray him and join the Order and Albion now that it seemed as if it could (but would never, if He had his way) be the winning side.
That could not happen. He would not allow it to happen. And the Dark Lord would reward him for his quick thinking, his swiftness to act, and his absolute faith in His will as one of his most devoted servants.
As Barty quietly excused himself and broke away from the crowd, he stalked over to where he saw Igor near the wall and heading for the gate. Of course they couldn't trust foreigners like him -- there were no surprises there. He tightened his grip on his wand and focused on channeling his anger and hatred -- at not having been able to take down his opponent just now, at the Order and Albion luring them out without a plan, at the lack of faith in their Lord and His will due to mere rumours -- into the Killing Curse, as Bellatrix had taught him. And when he was ready and could feel the spell's power coursing through him, he raised his wand and aimed for the traitor's back, a flash of green light erupting at its end.
Igor never heard or saw the Killing Curse coming. His thoughts were full of plans and contingency plans, feelings of contempt towards the fools who were staying just so they could die and feeling of incipient triumph at having escaped from this insanity. Thankfully he had few solid assets in this country and those few he did have could be left behind with a fair amount of equanimity. His liquid assets would be easy to get out of the country and then he would find a better way to achieve his goals. Something sane and easy, that didn't require impossible tasks of him. Perhaps something that would give his minions to order around and send off on missions and tasks. He'd like that. He felt he was well suited to such a role.
His thoughts were still racing around his mind and he was imaging himself giving orders in a bold and noble fashion when the spell hit his back and in an instant he was dead. He seemed to stay upright for an unnervingly long moment. Then he simply dropped to the ground in a boneless, unmoving heap.
As soon as Igor had fallen onto the grass, Barty dashed over to his body to check for himself that the other man was dead for certain. He had seen his Killing Curse hit its mark, but he would be diligent and see this task through to the very end, ensuring there had been no oversights. As he rolled the corpse onto its back with a flick of his wand, he knelt down to look at its face and check for the lack of a pulse; the expression seemed blank, the eyes unresponsive, and there were no beats against his fingers when he placed them on its throat. He had succeeded.
With one traitor appropriately punished before he could do further harm to their Cause, Barty stood up and gave the corpse an unceremonious and, in his mind, well-deserved kick for good measure. And then he stalked back to where the rest of the Death Eaters were still waiting and planning for the next attack, taking his place among the group again as if he had never left in the first place.
Order & Albion members
The giddy high of the fight with Bellatrix faded as Pepper came back to where Aubrey's body lay. It was... surreal, to be looking down at the kid he'd trained. You could almost imagine he was asleep, except. Except that there was something indefinable that said he wasn't, whether it was maybe a slight pallor to the skin, or the absence of a spark of life. He wasn't sure what was missing, only that something was.
Bending down to pick up Aubrey's wand, he used his own to cast a simple locomotor mortis, reflecting for a moment on the fact that they had a specific spell for moving human bodies. That said something about wizards, he decided. Something depraved and efficient, for all that it was probably more often used on the living.
A shield around himself, he guided the body back towards the castle, keeping an eye out as he did so for any Death Eaters lagging even longer than Bellatrix had. He wasn't bothered, though, and soon he was entering the castle proper, turning into the Great Hall so that he could lay Aubrey carefully down on the ground. Mechanically he summoned a sheet, kneeling on the hard stone to drape it over him gently. He wondered who would bury him, and how many people would care. Patty probably would, if she survived, and he hoped that she did, just so someone would remember.
Elsewhere, Tabitha was searching the grounds for Elsie's brother with tears in her eyes and blood staining her shirt. The hag had bitten her, and she'd roughly healed it as best she could, but that didn't stop her wounds leaking through the rough patchwork. Her mind was set, though. He hadn't come back to the castle and that meant he was out there, hurt, somewhere. A sonorused "EGGY" had gone unresponded but she wasn't giving up hope just yet. He was hurt. She would find him.
It was near the quidditch pitch that she found him, several yards off the main path. He wasn't moving, and Tabitha was running to his side, falling on her knees, begging him to get up and realising that there was nothing there. Not a shallow breath. Not quiet moans of pain. There was nothing at all. Grabbing his hand she squeezed, and as the coolness of the flesh pressed against her palm -- that was when the sobbing started in earnest. Not Eggy. Not one of the last things she had left of Elsie. "Please Egnorwiddle," she cried. "Please don't. Please." Several long minutes went by of crying over his dead body and realising, really for the first time since her best friend's death, that Elsie was not coming back ever again; and then Tabitha -- tearstained and bloody -- said a quiet mobilicorpus. She would take his body to Damocles. And then she'd cry more and hug him forever. He was all she had left.
Covered in cuts and bruises, his shoulder hurting from the rogue bludger, Damocles was slowly making his way somewhat aimlessly on the grounds, still keeping himself alert as to what was going on. He needed to find his friends – he needed to find his brother. From a distance he could see Tabitha making her way towards him, though he didn’t think that she wanted to see him; he thought that maybe she was searching for her own people. Nevertheless he stopped in his tracks and managed a small, strained smile which disappeared half a second later when he realised that someone was floating behind her. And as she got closer, his lips suddenly turned dry, and he felt as if the air had been knocked out of him when he recognised who it was.
"Egnorwiddle," he said, nearly dropping his wand. His brother looked so pale. Was he supposed to look like that? He was all right, right? Damocles could only open his mouth – but nothing came out. There was something lifeless about his brother; the expression on his face was similar to Elsie’s back then. "Is he hurt?" he asked hoarsely, putting an arm on his brother’s shoulder – and he let go almost immediately when he felt the coldness of his skin. It was then that he knew that he had lost his older brother. At first there was disbelief – and then grief washed over him and his legs weakened – he fell on to the ground and started to cry.
Tears sprang fresh to Tabitha's eyes as he asked, and she couldn't do more than jerk her head sideways. No. He wasn't hurt. He was gone. And then Damocles was on the ground and Tabitha was there with him, arms wrapped around him and hugging as tight as she could as she cried into his shoulder. "I'm so sorry," she choked out wetly, shaking as she struggled not to lose herself to uncontrollable sobbing. It was a pointless effort, though, because if there was anything that warranted desperate crying it was this. First Elsie, now Egnorwiddle. She just wanted her friends back. Her family. She wanted her mum. "I'm so sorry," she whispered again, barely able to breathe for tears.
Damocles couldn’t understand why it had to be his siblings – why they had to leave him. He felt like a seven year-old again, watching them go off to school and leaving him behind. It wasn’t fair. None of this was fair. They had their own lives – people who needed them. What about Dorothy and Marcus? How were they going to make it through without Egnorwiddle? No – what about him? He couldn’t do this alone. He needed his siblings, no matter how much his brother annoyed him; no matter how much they had fought – he still needed him. All of those moments of not visiting him, telling him that he were too busy when he was just being resentful – it wasn’t worth it. He felt as if he had just lost another part of him, and he didn’t know what to do about it. Barely hearing Tabitha’s apologies, he felt comforted to have a shoulder to cry on – to have someone who shared the same grief he was feeling – but it wasn’t enough. He knew that somehow, he had to survive that night for both of his brother and sister’s sake, no matter how much he wanted to give up. He had no choice, he was the only one left of them.
"We need to get him back to the castle," Tabitha said hoarsely, pulling herself back and grabbing Damocles by the shoulders. "Come on Damo, quick before they come back." She cast a nervous glance over her shoulder at the gathered death eaters. "Come on let's take care of him." It was hard to console someone else when she was crying her eyes out, but it wouldn't help Elsie or Egnorwiddle for Damocles to get caught grieving.
Wiping his tears, Damocles forced himself to stand up, his eyes still on his brother's body. "Okay," he whispered, starting to follow her, and if it wasn't for the fact that she had her arms on his shoulders, he wouldn't be able to tell where he was going. At the back of his mind, he wondered how to tell Dorothy, his parents -- and even Marcus. He wondered if Marcus would even understand what it meant to lose a father. He didn't know how to tell them at all.
The first wave of injured warriors was making its way slowly into the triage area, and to be honest, Hestia was glad to see them. It was much more difficult standing and waiting around to see who was still alive and who wasn't, who was badly hurt and who would be alright. Granted, tonight it was a little bit easier, as Hestia had her friends from St. Mungo's with her again (nearly all of whom were delighted to see her, and she had tried to muster up some similar feelings of happiness in their direction), and her side seemed to have the upper hand, but the waiting was still the worst part.
So, as the bodies began filtering in, both living and expired, Hestia set to work assessing damage, doing what she could to fix people and either sending them to wait for another call to arms or telling them to "not move from this bed or I will hex you" (as she said to one bloke, whose name she forgot at this point, who had bruised her cheek with his flailing). She was wiping her hands on her already sweat- and bloodstained robes when she came across her next patient, barely bothering to look up and see who it was. "Alright, what's happened to you?"
Tabitha waited quietly for a healer's attention. She was hardly the worst off, even bleeding, and frankly she was disturbed at all the damage and destruction around her. People were missing limbs, or fighting for their lives. She felt lightheaded and sat down suddenly, pushing a clean towel to her side to soak up the blood she was getting everywhere, wishing she was anywhere else for a minute. When Hestia turned her attentions (sort of) to her, she just said vaguely "hag scratches and bites but I can wait."
The voice was familiar, so Hestia looked up more properly and tried to pull out a decent smile for Tabitha. "No, you're fine," she said in her most soothing voice. "In fact, I'd say from the amount of blood I'm seeing, you came to exactly the right place. Let's have a look. Where did the hag bite you?"
It all felt sort of far away, as if somebody else was saying these words and gently helping Tabitha turn on her side so she could see where the blood was coming from, how bad the bite in question was, if there was any damage that would require further repair than what Hestia had time to give at the moment. At the very least, the younger girl would need some blood replenishing potions and possibly a cookie or two before heading back out to battle...
Tabitha's relief was palpable as she lifted her shirt, moving here or there as Hestia ordered her, taking this potion or that. It was so much easier letting someone else tell her what to do, and Hestia's gentleness was a stark contrast to the anger and violence outside. She just wanted to lean against the other woman and fall asleep... but there was still stuff to be done. She had to go back out, tear-stained and upset. There was no time to grieve. There was no time for anything. There was only time to win.